The artists who made this 17-foot-long whale didn’t give him a name, so we’ll call him Moby. He’s not dead, because he was never alive. But would you know that, when, from afar, you saw the giant carcass of a beached whale on the beach? No. You would be sad. We’re sad just looking at this picture.
And that’s exactly what those jerks intended:
The psychological archetype of the dead big fish leaves no one untouched. It stirs and mobilizes a local community. During our beachings, we see an intensive interaction among the crowd. People address each other, speculate and wonder. They offer help and ask for information.
Also, they lie to newcomers about whether it’s real or not. NOT COOL, guys. Lies aren’t jokes. Dead whales aren’t jokes. DOWN WITH ART.
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